


pointing my heart at you

by grace



Category: Pod Save America (RPF)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-20
Updated: 2017-11-20
Packaged: 2019-02-04 14:52:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12773379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grace/pseuds/grace
Summary: “I want you to know that if you keep this up all day itwillbecome creepy,” says Jon.Tommy laughs and blushes a tiny bit. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says.





	pointing my heart at you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shoemaster](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shoemaster/gifts).



> MANY MANY THANKS to shoemaster/jamwingles for inspiration and encouragement and extremely helpful suggestions, and also to hardlythewiser (sequinedfairy)/veryspecificfantasies for lots of smart and kind help making this better!
> 
> as always, this is severely utterly fictional. Please be chill and respectful and do not in any way bring to the attention of any of the people named!!

Jon always wakes up in a bad mood on his birthday. It’s just a nice fun yearly reminder that each day is another step forward in the grim march toward death and how every year all the inchoate messy aching hopes he feels for his future seem to telescope in a bit more and feel a little less realistic. It’s fine.

He rolls out of bed and pisses before he realizes that he was not awoken as usual by Pundit jamming her nose into his armpit and squeaking to be fed. He feels a stab of concern, but when he stumbles into the kitchen it turns out that that’s because Pundit has already been fed and is happily ensconced in Emily’s lap while Favs putters at the stove. They both turn and look at him.

“I’m calling the police,” says Jon.

“Happy birthday, we love you,” says Emily.

“I’m making waffles and hashbrowns,” says Favs, which means the same thing as what Emily said.

“We didn’t wake you up, did we?” says Favs with concern. “We were trying to be really quiet.”

“No,” says Jon suspiciously. 

“I’m re-tweeting all your jokes about the Beverly Center renovation,” says Emily. “They’re all so funny, god.”

They are twenty minutes into eating waffles and Favs and Emily are listening with rapt attention to Jon describing in excruciating detail his dream about the midterm election that was loosely based on an episode of Frasier, when Tommy clatters in the front door breathlessly. He’s wearing a t-shirt that’s way too tight and glowing a little like he was busy doing something wholesome.

“Sorry I’m late,” he says. “I was changing the oil in your car, Lovett.”

“Okay,” says Jon. “You know I think that’s just a scam, but thanks anyway.”

“Tommy, you missed the beginning of Lovett’s dream,” says Emily reproachfully.

“Oh no,” says Tommy sincerely. “What was it about?” so Jon starts over again at the beginning, partly because it was in fact a very interesting dream, and partly to test out how long the three of them can sustain this gambit, out of curiosity. His over/under is less than an hour. 

But to their credit, they listen all the way through the recounting of the dream with unwavering attentiveness, even though it does honestly become a bit rambling at the end as Jon’s recall of the dream gets fuzzier and he has to riff a little. Emily rests her chin on her hand and says _mmm-hmm_ a lot, Favs tilts his head to the side and leans forward, his elbows on his knees, his mouth a little open, and Tommy looks at Jon without blinking, brow furrowed in concentration. Even though it’s all for show, it honestly does feel really nice.

“This honestly does feel really nice,” says Jon. “Not really sure what you people are up to but. Nice work. Consider the wager won, or whatever.”

“There’s no wager,” says Favs.

“We just really love you and we wanted to hear about your dream,” says Tommy earnestly.

Tommy drives Jon to work. He doesn't complain or get stern once when Jon takes ten thousand years to get ready, or when Jon, flustered, has to go back into the house twice to retrieve forgotten items after he’s already gotten in the car. Tommy just waits with total patience and smiles at Jon for no reason.

“I want you to know that if you keep this up all day it _will_ become creepy,” says Jon.

Tommy laughs and blushes a tiny bit. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says.

Jon takes the aux cord and puts on Florence + the Machine and sings along as loudly and gracelessly as possible all the way to the studio and Tommy doesn’t say a goddamn word about it.

It’s a little awkward at first recording the pod, because every time Jon interrupts Favs or Tommy, they just stop speaking and listen to whatever he has to say. It makes for a whole different rhythm which throws Jon off a little bit, but then he gets into it.

After work but before they all take him out to dinner, Jon makes Tommy take him home so he can drop off Pundit and change. He puts on his favorite jeans, his newest sneakers, and a softer t-shirt. It’s his birthday and he wants to feel both sexy and comfy, dammit. 

When he comes back out to the car, Tommy’s put his sunglasses on. He clears his throat a little when Jon gets into the passenger seat and says, “You look nice, Jon,” swallowing the words a little on Jon’s name.

“Thanks,” says Jon. “You don’t have a more overblown compliment than that for the very special creepy birthday niceness conspiracy?”

“You look hot as hell,” says Tommy seriously. Jon can’t think of a good joke to respond to that with so he just shrugs and grimaces and makes a grumpy sound and focuses on his phone.

In the car on the way to dinner he spends some time tweeting increasingly inane and unfunny shit to see if there’s anything Favs will not like, retweet, and respond “haha” to. There does not seem to be a limit. 

At dinner, nobody makes anybody sing happy birthday at him, no one produces any candles, and no one makes him hug them. Everyone just looks at him softly and fondly, laughs at his jokes, and encourages him to order progressively more absurd hors d'oeuvres while allowing him to call them amuse bouche because that’s funnier. It’s everything Jon wants from a birthday dinner.

After dinner they all go back to Favs’ and Emily’s house and Emily lets him pause Bachelor in Paradise as often as he wants to go on long screeds about various contestants’ misconceptions about themselves and their place in the world. Favs and Tommy sit on either end of the couch, patient bookends, watching the show with polite perplexed absorption. Whenever Jon pauses for breath in his rants, one of them always tells him that he’s making a really smart point. It’s heaven.

Jon enjoys gradually taking up more and more room on the couch, laying sprawled out with one leg slung over Emily’s lap, forcing Tommy on the other side of him to retreat farther and farther to give him space until Tommy is squished against the arm of the couch, but he still doesn’t complain. 

Jon ends up with his head on Tommy’s thigh. He’s had more than one margarita at this point and is feeling less self-consciously twitchy than usual about physical contact. When he first shifts to rest his head on Tommy, he feels Tommy’s hand rest briefly in his hair and then move away. Jon makes a small discontented sound and reaches blindly back over his head, accidentally smacking Tommy in the chest and making him laugh softly.

“Scratch my head,” says Jon sulkily. “It’s special creepy birthday niceness conspiracy rules, you have to.”

Tommy laughs again and his fingers are back in Jon’s hair, stroking and scratching slow and gentle, just right. 

It feels really good and warm, like all up and down Jon’s spine. It makes Jon both want to go to sleep and want to grab Tommy’s hand and put Tommy’s fingers in his mouth. There’s only so much of that feeling he can tolerate, so after a few minutes, he shrugs Tommy’s hand back off and says, “That’ll do, birthday minion.”

When Jon goes to the kitchen to get another snack, Tommy follows him and says, “Hey -” quietly. He’s standing too close to Jon and smiling like what he’s about to say is a secret, glancing back at the living room where Emily and Favs are laughing at something. Jon freezes, his hand on the open refrigerator door.

“I got a present for you,” Tommy says. “Shhh. Come out back with me.” He reaches over and closes the refrigerator door with Jon’s hand still on the handle, turns and heads out the kitchen door, giving Jon a significant glance over his shoulder.

When Jon follows him out onto the patio, Tommy’s lighting a joint. He smiles at Jon, holds the joint out and says, “Happy birthday, buddy.”

Jon pulls the back door shut, takes the joint from Tommy’s hand, their fingers brushing.

“I don’t know why we’re making a secret production of this,” Jon says. “I’ve literally smoked up with Emily in this exact spot before. And don’t try to tell me you and Jon never smoked weed in your degenerate Chicago days.”

“Favs and I did a little more than smoke weed in our degenerate Chicago days,” allows Tommy. He says little like _lil_ and it’s so fucking cute. 

Jon takes a slow hit, breathing in really deep and holding it for a really long time, showing off. When he glances up at Tommy’s face when he passes him back the joint, Tommy looks impressed - maybe. It’s kind of hard to read his face.

They sit down on the step, half in shadow, half in the porch light glow.

“This is good,” says Jon, after they’ve passed back and forth in silence for a while. “Thanks, Tommy.”

“Are you having a good birthday?” asks Tommy, nudging the toe of his shoe against the toe of Jon’s.

“Yeah,” says Jon, laughs a shallow little laugh. “Funny though, I’m kinda starting to miss you calling me a dick and telling me to shut up all the time.”

“I can do that too if you want,” says Tommy. “It’s your birthday for two more hours. I’ll do whatever you want.”

Jon snorts. “I find that hard to believe.” They’re getting down to the roach. Jon takes a final drag, passes it off distastefully and flops down onto his back on the porch.

“God, I’m old,” he says. “And I don’t even feel like a person yet, Tommy.”

He hears Tommy shift and lay back next to him. “You’re an amazing person, Jon,” Tommy says softly. “You’re a brilliant writer, and you get better all the time. You’re funny as hell. You fight for what you believe in. You’re Pundit’s dad, and you’re my friend.”

“Thanks,” says Jon sharply. “Thanks, but I don’t really want your fake reassurance on top of your fake niceness, Tommy.”

He hears Tommy pause and draw in a slow breath, in the way that means he’s either pissed off or genuinely hurt.

“There’s nothing fake about either of them,” Tommy says finally.

“Sure,” says Jon. “Fine.”

Tommy doesn't say anything for long enough for Jon to go fully into a despair spiral about how he ruins every goddamn thing, a catastrophizing feeling which the weed isn’t helping with. 

Then Tommy leans up onto his elbows, looks over at Jon. “Shut up,” he says seriously. “You’re such a fucking dick.”

Jon snorts out a laugh so violently that he covers his mouth with one hand, worried the noise will bring Favs and Emily out here. When he looks over at Tommy, Tommy’s smiling too, and Jon feels a relief in his chest way disproportionate to the cause.

“That’s more like it,” Jon says. “There’s my friend, the bully.”

“Anytime,” says Tommy easily. “Any other requests you wanna put in for the last two hours of your birthday?” 

His voice sounds light but there’s something else in it, another tone that Jon struggles to pin down. 

Jon rolls over onto his side on the porch floor, resting his cheek on his arm. Tommy turns on his side too, so they’re facing each other, only a small amount of space between them - a distance the length of a few of Tommy’s handspans, more of Jon’s. 

Tommy’s eyes are warm and Jon’s body is full and heavy with the weed and the tequila and the heady temporary feeling of being loved and accepted unconditionally. Jon has lots of other requests but none of them are okay or mentionable, so he makes a joke. 

“I don’t know,” he says. “I was kinda really hoping to have a boyfriend to give me a blowjob by the time this birthday rolled around, but even with your magical problem-solving powers I don’t think you can produce one for me quite so last minute.”

Tommy smiles. His eyes crinkle. “Tracking down a boyfriend for you in the next - “ he checks his watch, “93 minutes might be a little tough.” He pauses. He’s looking in Jon’s eyes and Jon, who’s usually the one who forgets that it’s creepy to maintain eye contact for too long, doesn’t look away either. “I could always help you out with the second part of the request, though,” Tommy says, lightly.

Jon tries to figure out what Tommy’s saying, because he can’t be saying what it sounds like he’s saying. “What second part of the request?”

“You know,” Tommy lowers his voice a little, speaking in the same jokey conspiratorial tone as when he told Jon to come outside to smoke. “The blowjob part.”

“What the fuck, Tommy.”

The back door opens and the light from the kitchen falls out over them where they're lying, face to face. Above them, Favs says, “Guys?”, laughing, but Tommy doesn't take his eyes off Jon’s face. He's still smiling faintly but his eyes are serious, searching.

“Ah, I see your present was well received there, Tommy,” says Favs, crouching down next to them. “Having fun?”

“Such fun,” says Jon.

“What are they doing out there?” calls Emily from inside.

“Just rolling around on the ground, stoned out of their gourds,” Favs reports back cheerfully.

“No one is rolling anywhere,” says Jon primly. “And I’m still very much within my gourd, thanks a bunch.” He flounders to his feet gracelessly and stands there awkwardly, tugging his t-shirt back down over his waist where it had ridden up. 

Tommy is still lying there on his back, gazing up at Jon unblinkingly. Favs, crouched between them, glances up at Jon and then looks down at Tommy for a long minute, his face angled so Jon can’t see his expression. 

“Think Emily and I are gonna call it a night soon,” Favs says finally. “Tom, are you good to walk Lovett home?” He reaches out and rests his closed fist gently on Tommy’s shoulder, and Tommy reaches up to clasp Favs’ wrist without looking at it, like the gesture is automatic.

“Why do I need to be walked home?” asks Jon.

“Because you’re very, very precious,” says Emily from inside, sing-song.

At the front door, Emily and Favs give Jon a box of his favorite fancy imported candies and Emily kisses him on the cheek and Favs gives him a warm long hug and says, “We love you, Jon. We appreciate you. Happy birthday,” his mouth against Jon’s hair.

“Wow, tomorrow’s gonna be a rude cold awakening back to my daily reality of being taken for granted and cyber-bullied by you people,” says Jon, through the lump in his throat. 

Tommy is standing beside and a little behind Jon, just past his sight. He can’t see Tommy’s face but he can see Favs glancing over at Tommy and he’s learned better through the years to interpret one side of that silent communication, to solve for the missing variable.

“Goodnight, thanks for having us,” says Tommy to Favs and Emily. Jon kisses Leo and they head out.

The walk is mostly quiet. Jon really is stoned, and the air feels nice and good. He wants to bring up what Tommy sort of said on the porch but that would probably be weird and uncomfortable, to drag out what had to be a joke like that. 

But he doesn’t understand what Tommy meant and he doesn’t understand why Tommy isn’t talking or joking while they walk, why his head is bent and his face is drawn and serious and his hands are in his pockets. It’s a jarring, sour note at the end of an otherwise perfect day.

At Jon’s door they stand awkwardly, Jon holding his keys. They can hear the frenetic clicking of Pundit’s toenails as she hurls herself repeatedly against the other side of the door.

Jon starts saying, “So I guess -” as Tommy starts saying, “Sorry -” and they both stop. Jon looks sideways at Tommy who is looking sideways at him. They both laugh, and it feels like the air around them lightens a little. 

Jon makes one paltry attempt to locate his house key on the ring and then holds his keys out to Tommy, wordlessly.

“What’s this?” says Tommy. “You can’t unlock your own front door?”

“I am, as the children say, too turnt,” says Jon with dignity.

“I’m just as turnt as you,” says Tommy, but he still knows which key on the ring is Jon’s front door key, and he picks it out and opens the front door with a very minimal amount of fumbling. 

Pundit jumps to greet them and all of a sudden Tommy is very close to Jon as they both crouch down just inside the door to pet her. She’s leaping up to lick each of their faces in turn and Tommy’s arm is pressed against Jon’s. 

When Jon stands up he kind of stumbles against Tommy, not on purpose, but Tommy’s big warm hand grabs Jon’s upper hand to steady him. His hand is spread warm and firm against the bare skin of Jon’s bicep, not precise and reserved like Tommy’s touches usually are. 

Without thinking, his body just reacting in an agonizing unstoppable cascade, Jon kind of turns into the touch and steps closer to Tommy, nudging his head back and forth against Tommy’s shoulder, like Pundit looking for pets. 

Tommy breathes in sharply and wraps his arms around Jon. He hugs Jon _hard_ , presses his face against Jon’s hair. 

It’s a fierce, full-bodied hug, and it knocks the breath right out of Jon. He presses his face against Tommy’s shoulder, grips the back of Tommy’s shirt weakly with both hands.

“Jon,” says Tommy, voice so low. He’s kind of nuzzling his face against the side of Jon’s head, his nose brushing back and forth against Jon’s temple. “Jesus, Jon. Can I kiss you?”

Tommy’s voice is devastatingly rough. Jon feels inappropriate laughter bubbling in his chest. He nods a small jerky nod, without lifting his face from Tommy’s shoulder. 

Tommy’s big hand slides up Jon’s neck and into the back of his hair and Jon can’t help the full body shiver that hits him. It’s like when Tommy was stroking his hair earlier, but totally crazily different. 

Tommy tugs his head up gently and before Jon can talk or think Tommy’s mouth is on his and they are kissing, open-mouthed, clumsy and messy. Tommy’s tongue is in his mouth, what the fuck. 

Some of the inappropriate laughter starts bubbling out in gasps and he can feel Tommy smiling too. Then Tommy takes two fast steps, and Jon’s back crashes against the wall and he can’t laugh anymore, all the breath leaving him in a loud gasp. 

He grips the back of Tommy’s neck with one hand, probably digging his nails in too hard, and slides his other hand up under the back of Tommy’s shirt, feels the smooth warm skin on the small of Tommy’s back. 

Tommy stops kissing him, presses his mouth against the side of Jon’s neck and says softly, “Fuck. Jon.”

“What?” says Jon, insanely. His voice is way too loud, even he’s conscious of that, in the quiet house.

Tommy kisses his neck over and over and says in a rush, tripping over his words, “I thought I fucked everything up.”

“How could you fuck everything up?” Jon wonders out loud dumbly. “Tommy- watch out for Pundit.”

Pundit’s circling their ankles. Jon’s not actually worried about Tommy hurting her but he’s a little afraid he himself might accidentally kick her, because his control of his own limbs feels extremely tenuous right now.

“Hey, sweet girl,” says Tommy. His voice sounds raspy but tender with the laughter behind it. “Hey, c’mere -” and he steps back from Jon, bends down to scoop Pundit up.

When he straightens up he just stands there, holding Pundit to his chest, a pace away from Jon. His giant fingers are threaded gently through Pundit’s fur. He ducks his head to kiss the top of her head, peeking at Jon over her.

Tommy’s face is so pink, his forehead shiny like it gets before they go onstage, and he looks all of a sudden so young and uncertain, standing in Jon’s hallway.

Jon clears his throat. He’s gonna stay where he is, kind of propped up against the wall, because his knees feel shaky. 

“It’s okay,” he says with great bravado. “You did great so far. You don’t have to - go through with it.”

Tommy barks a laugh. “Thanks, Lovett,” he says, “Thanks for the positive feedback. I slammed your head into the wall and shoved my tongue down your throat, I bet that was real good for you.”

“It was fine, actually,” says Jon. “It was fine. No complaints here. You really have done more than enough to make my birthday very memorable. You proved your point. You could just leave now if you want, with your dignity intact.”

Tommy doesn’t say anything for a long couple of seconds. He kisses Pundit again. “You want me to leave?” he says finally.

“No!” says Jon loudly. “God no. I - listen. This would not be the first or let’s be honest the last charity blowjob I have accepted or will accept. In fact, I think charity blowjobs when thoughtfully applied can be a key part of the friend economy.” He pauses to take a breath and hates that he can hear it, shuddery. 

During the pause, Tommy turns and walks away, and Jon has a sinking but not entirely negative _oh well, that makes sense_ feeling.

“I just don’t want you to like - get carried away by special creepy birthday niceness rules and hate yourself and/or me in the morning,” concludes Jon, inanely. He’s talking to Tommy’s shoulders now, his back, turned away from Jon in the kitchen doorway.

Tommy puts Pundit in the kitchen and turns back toward Jon. His face looks calmer now, set. 

He walks back over to Jon, takes Jon’s chin gently in his hand, looks Jon in the eye.

“If you want me to suck your dick, I’ll suck your dick,” says Tommy decisively. “Your call here, Lovett. 100%.”

“Oh...boy…” says Jon, faintly. All his thoughts and words are hopelessly scattered by the intensity of having Tommy’s gaze fixed on him while Tommy says those words. 

Jon feels like he finally understands what people mean when they use that unbearable neologism, _shook_. 

“I feel like I finally understand what people mean when they use that unbearable neologism, _shook_ ,” says Jon weakly.

Something cracks or eases a little in Tommy’s gaze, adjusts. He laughs and leans in, kisses Jon again, quick and sweet. 

“That a yes?” he says, smiling down at Jon. “Can we clarify.”

“Clarify this,” says Jon, grabbing two fistfuls of Tommy’s t-shirt and yanking him back down and in. 

 

Hooking up with Tommy is pretty much exactly like Jon had imagined it - not that he had imagined it like a lot, or in excessive detail. It was just hard not to have the thought cross his mind over the years, no matter how much he tried not be awful and creepy. Hard not to think, seeing Tommy shift between lightheartedness and dogged focus in all other areas of his life, about how that might feel, if it was directed at _him_ \- Tommy’s essential sunniness, and the strength beneath it. 

In bed as in general life, Tommy is big, and warm. He is both devastatingly shrewd and devastatingly considerate, both sweet and surprisingly exacting. It makes Jon feel breathless and shaky and insane.

Tommy pushes up over Jon, caging him in, the light from the hallway light and the lamp beside Jon’s bed shining on his long golden limbs, the sinews in his neck and arms that always make Jon want to bite him.

“Hey,” says Tommy. His mouth is shiny from kissing, and when Jon reluctantly drags his gaze up, his eyes are focused and quizzical looking. “What’s up?”

“Uh, what’s up?” parrots Jon stupidly. He can feel Tommy’s dick pressed against Jon’s hip, big and heavy in Tommy’s boxer briefs. Jon’s stoned and Tommy’s on top of him, making out with him. It’s crazy.

“You seem distracted,” says Tommy, reaching up to rub at his own nose the way he sometimes does, usually when he’s feeling self conscious. He’s just easily balancing all his bodyweight on one arm with no obvious effort, no big deal. “It’s okay if you’re not into this.”

“I’m into this,” says Jon, tripping over the words. “Tommy, it’s insane that you would even think that I would not be into this.”

Tommy smiles, a little reluctantly. “Okay,” he says, softly. He leans down a little, like he’s gonna kiss Jon again, and Jon helpfully cranes his face up to facilitate this, but Tommy hesitates, draws back again and lets out a breath like he’s gonna say something else, probably something else stupid and sensible and unnecessary.

Jon bites his lip and whimpers, looking up at Tommy with big eyes - partly because most guys seem to like that and partly because he’s not fully in control and just can’t help it.

“Don’t try that cute shit on me, I’m immune to it,” says Tommy with amusement. 

That stings a little to hear, even though Jon is looking right at Tommy’s face and can feel Tommy’s whole body pressed against him and so he can tell that Tommy is not _completely_ immune to it. Jon is high and sexually out of his comfort zone right now, but he’s not stupid.

“Okay fine,” Jon snaps. “Where’s your tongue, put your tongue back in my mouth. Is that more the vibe you’re looking for here?”

“Settle down,” says Tommy, fondly, but with an edge. 

He kisses Jon again and it’s a little rougher, has more bite to it. Jon feels himself go shuddery and soft underneath Tommy, and he hates it and loves it.

“You’re not _completely_ immune to me,” Jon insists, a little bit later. 

His legs are slung over Tommy’s big shoulders and Tommy is deep throating Jon’s dick with a profound commitment and professionalism, so this is perhaps a stupid moment to litigate this, but sometimes Jon just blurts things out. He’s learned to live with and even appreciate this facet of his personality.

Tommy pulls off with showy slowness. He spits on Jon’s dick and jerks him a couple times like he’s in a porno. 

“I never said I was,” Tommy responds finally, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“You’re ridiculous,” whines Jon. His stomach and his thighs are trembling. It feels like he’s been so close to coming for ages, but Tommy is a slow and dedicated cocksucker. “You said, before.”

“I said I was immune to your cute helpless act,” corrects Tommy. He sucks hard on the head of Jon’s dick for a second, and Jon squeezes his knees against Tommy’s head, helplessly. “You forget I lived with you. You tried that shit on me all the time, I developed a tolerance.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” gasps Jon. “I never tried anything on you. I specifically did not. Please, please do that again.”

“Oh Tommy,” mimics Tommy in his mean voice, which is definitely a weird turn on. “I _can’t_ take the trash out because I’m too scared to walk downstairs by myself in the dark. Oh Tommy, help me, I can’t lift this big box of math theory books I’ll never read, I guess it’ll have to stay here in the middle of the living room forever or until you move it for me. Oh Tommy -” 

Tommy breaks off and starts laughing because Jon is spluttering so loudly, propped up on his elbows now. Tommy looks up at Jon from between his thighs, face pink and eyes crinkled with laughter.

“ _First of all_ ,” says Jon, at a volume level close enough to a yell that Pundit wakes up and barks from the other room. “I did read almost 100% of those books. I only turned into an idiot who can’t read anything longer than a tweet when I moved to LA, and that was just to fit in with the culture. I was being culturally competent.”

“Uh-huh,” says Tommy. “Sure.”

“Second of all, none of that was ‘cute’ or an ‘act.’ I am just small, weak, and helpless and I am appalled, _appalled_ that you would make fun of me for this, Tommy.”

“So it was just an accident that you’d use your special sexy voice and your special sexy doe eyes whenever you were being small, weak, and helpless,” says Tommy, sarcastically, but he turns his head to kiss Jon’s thigh, gently and softly. 

Jon collapses back onto his back, arms giving out. “You have a very strange definition of sexy,” he says to the ceiling. “God what if - could you imagine if I could go back in time and tell my 2011 self that this would be happening. What a wild thing.”

“Hmm,” says Tommy. “What did you want me to do again?”

“Suck me, you doofus,” says Jon, his voice breaking.

Tommy does, slow and focused, pausing every little while to do some ball stuff, which Jon frankly is not usually like raring to go on but does feel really good. When Jon comes he puts both his hands tightly over his mouth so that he won’t say anything too crazy or stupid and ruin this.

When Jon catches his breath and looks back down, Tommy is gently pressing a kiss against Jon’s quivering thigh again, his eyes closed.

“Tommy,” says Jon, raw.

“Happy birthday, buddy,” says Tommy softly, looking up.

“No, not yet,” says Jon nonsensically. “We’re not done yet. I want you to get off.”

“It’s okay,” says Tommy easily.

“I want you to,” says Jon. “Please. Can you just like - can you -” Jon tries to sit up and his whole body just sort of doesn’t cooperate. “Can you just jerk off on me or something?” he finishes weakly.

Tommy ducks his head down and removes himself gently from between Jon’s thighs. Jon braces himself to feel a sting of shame and rejection, Tommy explaining kindly that he’s just not into this enough to get off, but then Tommy’s rolling onto his back to kick off his underwear, and rolling back up and knee-walking up the bed. He’s still hard, like he was earlier when they were making out.

“Good,” says Jon, as Tommy straddles his hips and starts jerking himself. Tommy’s big freckily chest is all pink. Jon feels weird looking at his dick, even though that’s demonstrably insane given the context, so he looks at Tommy’s face instead, intent, half in shadow.

“Good,” says Jon again, weakly. “Thank you.”

Tommy doesn’t say anything, but he reaches out and touches Jon’s face, so softly. Just his fingertips resting feather light against Jon’s cheek, his jaw.

Jon blinks up at Tommy towering over him and, awfully, feels pinpricks of tears threatening behind his eyes. He knows he’s made a big mistake here - a fake, pretend way of having Tommy is worse than nothing at all, and Jon should have known this tonight, should have known this years ago. He can feel the ache of wanting Tommy just growing heavier inside him. For a smart person, Jon can be so stupid.

Tommy comes with a soft grunt, all over Jon’s chest, and Jon swallows back the lump in his throat til it dissolves. 

Tommy came a lot, volume-wise, which is pretty hot and also like something they have to deal with logistically before it gets on Jon’s bedsheets. The silliness of dealing with it makes Jon feel better - Tommy mopping delicately at him with a damp towel and making self deprecating jokes. 

Jon doesn’t ask Tommy to stay over and Tommy doesn’t ask to leave, and pretty soon they just stop making jokes and fall asleep together, the lamp still on.

 

When Jon walks into the kitchen in the morning, Tommy is wearing Jon’s underwear which is too small on him and making pancakes. It’s like a weird mixture of deja vu and fantasy, remembering all the similar mornings in DC when Jon cruelly hurt himself by pretending that something was happening there that was not.

“Hey,” says Tommy, smiling. “Morning. I wasn’t a hundred percent on these blueberries, but I think some of them are still good.”

“They’re fine,” says Jon automatically. “I bought them like, two days ago.”

Tommy hums and flips a pancake, takes a sip of coffee from Jon’s Café Nervosa mug. 

“Okay,” says Jon indecisively. He feels achey and sticky and grumpy and afraid. But Tommy is still here. He didn’t leave Jon’s house while Jon was still asleep. He’s making them breakfast, so the friendship can’t be ruined. Not irreparably.

“I’m gonna take a shower,” says Jon.

Tommy hums again. He has NPR on quietly and he’s paying attention to that.

Jon hesitates in the kitchen doorway and says awkwardly, “Thanks for making pancakes.”

Tommy pauses with the spatula and shoots him a startled look that Jon doesn’t wait around long enough to try to figure out. He takes a long hot shower and feels better on the other side of it.

When he comes back out, Tommy’s halfway through his plate of pancakes and has Jon’s New York Times that he still gets delivered in paper form spread out on the table. Pundit is sitting nicely next to his chair, with exaggerated good manners that can only mean Tommy has been feeding her something he shouldn't have.

“Hey,” says Jon sharply. “Thanks for waiting for me. And for messing up my paper, and spoiling my dog.”

”Hey,” says Tommy back, flipping the page over. “It’s not your birthday anymore. Special birthday niceness rules no longer apply.”

“What a harsh comedown,” says Jon. “What a harsh return to the hellscape of reality -” but he can’t help smiling a little, feeling on steadier ground again. The fear and uneasiness he woke with is leaving Jon’s body in a steady current, though he can’t imagine yet what might replace it.

“Go get pancakes,” says Tommy. “Before they get cold. Then we need to talk about this editorial. It’s a shitshow.”

“Oh goodie,” says Jon.

He gets his plate and sits down heavily in the chair across from Tommy, kicking out his foot obnoxiously to connect with Tommy’s man-spread legs under the table. Tommy doesn’t react, but Jon can see him bite the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling, eyes focused on the paper. Seeing that familiar inflection in Tommy’s face makes Jon’s heart skip a beat, makes him feel something he can’t name - dizzy and hopeful and warm.

Jon stabs a bite of pancake with zest and says, “Okay. What are we working with?”

**Author's Note:**

> i am amazonplanet on tumblr!


End file.
